


Thrift Like A Pro

by A_Death_and_A_Maiden



Series: Yuri on Ice One Shots [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crossdressing, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, No Sex, Romance, Supportive Otabek Altin, Yuri in a skirt, thrifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Death_and_A_Maiden/pseuds/A_Death_and_A_Maiden
Summary: He knew he shouldn’t encourage Yuri to do anything stupid, it had been clear from the very beginning of their strange partnership that Otabek was a fountain of wisdom in their dynamic duo. Yuri saw that and Otabek was proud that the younger skater looked up to him. A certain weight of responsibility was put on Otabek’s shoulders but every time this thought crossed his mind, an image of Yuri, him and Barcelona skyline appeared before his eyes and this vision always ended with him extending a hand to Yuri and offering friendship.
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Yuri on Ice One Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128941
Kudos: 23





	Thrift Like A Pro

Yuri thrifted like a pro.  
Barcelona’s old historic quarter boasted many designer boutiques alongside with more affordable vintage shops that sold second-hand clothes. The vintage shop Yuri dragged Otabek into was packed with stylish clothes from the bygone eras. They were perusing the rail with T-shirts and long-sleeves in a united attempt to locate a T-shirt with animal print to Yuri’s liking, a feat no easy because the animal print T-shirt collection that Plisetsky had amassed during years would put Devil Wear Prada Closet to shame. The Russian skater said he needed something to boost his mood because of the talk Victor and Yakov gave him after the ‘Welcome to Madness’ exhibition skate. Apparently, it was okay for two men to pair skate but not okay for two men to pair skate. Logic (Victor) and science (Yakov) in one sentence. 

Yuri came to the end of the rail and gave a short sigh of disappointment. He had nixed every suggestion from Otabek, too. But Yuri thrifted like a pro, he knew disappointment was part of the thrifting package. There was no point in coming to a second-hand shop with a mind closed on different options. Yuri turned around and Otabek heard a gasp of discovery escape Yuri’s lips. Considering they had spent forty-five minutes shooting blanks, the Kazakh man drew himself closer to Yuri to see the item that was finally worth of Plisetsky’s attention. When he saw what Yuri was holding in front of his sparkling eyes, Otabek, the epitome of cool, quirked his brows in a question but his full pursed lips of the best friend refrained from making a verbal comment. Yuri was holding a skirt and beaming with happiness. 

The skirt, Otabek had to be objective here, was indeed very beautiful. The colour was baby pink and it matched Yuri’s alabaster skin and drew forward the depth of his blue-green eyes. The front of the skirt was decorated with sparkly sequins and fluffy fringes that moved with the slightest shake of the fabric. There was a small slit at the front of the skirt to allow freer movement of the wearer’s legs that would be craving for a pair of stiletto heels to pair with the outfit. 

“I wish I could wear it to the gala,”- said Yuri and Otabek understood that Yuri was _actually_ seeing himself in woman’s clothes. That was a lot to take in so suddenly. - “But those fuckers are not gonna let me.”

That was a given. A fifteen-year-old Russian boy turning up at the gala event to represent his country and meet his sponsors wearing a skirt just didn’t exist in time and space. Otabek saw how Yuri’s happy face turned first wistful, then sad. Yuri bit his lower lip and Otabek understood Yuri was giving up. His best friend was giving up on something he so very much adored because the big bad world outside had these social constraints that real men didn’t wear skirts, real men didn’t put on make-up, real men didn’t wear heels. That one chromosome was a life sentence for one’s fashion choices. 

But Otabek Altin was a new addition to the equation in Yuri Plisetsky’s life and Otabek Altin was also a friend. The world wasn’t Yuri’s friend, but Otabek was and, if Otabek needed any reminder of the fact, he was Yuri’s friend by his own volition. He had said Yuri had eyes of a soldier and he had extended his hand to Yuri offering friendship just two days ago. _Altin, suck your friendship up like a man,_ -thought Otabek. 

“Do you like it?”- Otabek asked.  
“It’s...magnificent. I’d like to have it even if I wouldn’t be able to wear it.”  
“Try it on,”- Otabek suggested and there was a medical condition close to a heart attack when Yuri looked at him and smiled. Otabek watched Yuri go towards the changing rooms and a windstorm of emotions overtook him. He knew he shouldn’t encourage Yuri to do anything stupid, it had been clear from the very beginning of their strange partnership that Otabek was a fountain of wisdom in their dynamic duo. Yuri saw that and Otabek was proud that the younger skater looked up to him. A certain weight of responsibility was put on Otabek’s shoulders but every time this thought crossed his mind, an image of Yuri, him and Barcelona skyline appeared before his eyes and this vision always ended with him extending a hand to Yuri and offering friendship. 

As you sow, so shall you reap. 

Otabek didn’t have an opinion about men in skirts. He wasn’t gonna wear one himself but he didn’t have a problem with other people wearing whatever they wanted. Yuri wanted to wear a skirt that made his face light up like a midnight sun from happiness? Otabek was more than happy to oblige. 

Yuri was back much quicker than Otabek could have expected and fingered the skirt rail trying to locate the exact spot he had plucked the pink skirt from in order to return the item. His face was blank.  
“Is the size wrong?”- Otabek asked. - “Maybe you can get it tailored?”  
“No.”  
“Yuri?”- Otabek was surprised at the curt reply and cold shoulder he had just received from his friend. But Otabek wasn’t gonna let it go. Not this time. He didn’t step on the ice during ‘Welcome to the Madness’ for this. If Yuri was indeed a friend Yuri thought he was, he’d better treat Otabek with some fucking respect. Otabek grabbed Yuri by the elbow and pulled nearer to himself. 

“What’s wrong?”- Otabek asked quietly, whispering hot breath into a tiny Yuri’s ear that hadn’t been pierced yet.   
“The shop assistant wouldn’t let me try it on,”- Yuri mumbled, not looking at Otabek. - “It’s happened before. It’s no big deal, really.”  
Otabek inhaled loudly. He saw red.   
It  
was  
a  
big  
deal.  
Massive, actually.

“Do you want that skirt?”- Otabek asked.   
“It doesn’t matter…”  
“Do.you.want.that.skirt?”  
“Yes,”- hissed Yuri, breaking his elbow from Otabek’s grip, tears showing up in the corner of his eyes, snapping and hissing like an angry cat. - “Yes, I want that fucking skirt very much. Happy now?”  
By then, Otabek wanted that fucking skirt very much, too. He picked up the skirt from the rail where Yuri had hung it back and pushed it into Yuri’s hands.  
“Come on,”- Otabek commanded, turned Yuri around by his shoulders and guided him towards the changing rooms. Otabek put his hand on Yuri’s back and pushed the younger skater through the shop floor like an ice-breaker ship would push a chunk of ice, the fucking Titanic got lucky compared to what damage Otabek was gonna wreck in the next twenty seconds. There was a shop assistant, a young Spanish man, manning the changing rooms. Otabek pulled Yuri to a stop and the Spanish man looked at them questioningly.

“My friend would like to try on this skirt,”- Otabek said silently in very accented English and the absolute weight of his dark eyes started eating the shop assistant’s face. Otabek didn’t look much of menace when he was in his chill mode, which was the trademark he went by, but he could be intimidating when he wanted. Now he wanted. Very much. - “Is that gonna be a problem?”  
“No,”- said the shop assistant and he stepped away to let them pass. Otabek navigated Yuri to one of the free changing cabins and pulled the curtain closed. He then leaned his back against the wall in front of Yuri’s cabin, planting himself firmly there and resorting to wait. Otabek felt his chest burn with slow anger. The shop assistant only let Yuri try on a skirt because the Spanish man wanted to walk the streets of Barcelona on his own legs when he saw Otabek and realized the colour of the skirt a blonde man wanted to try on was brighter than his, the shop assistant’s, future.

Badass Otabek who could be the breath of death when pissed off. Otabek thought of submitting a complaint to the shop owner but then decided against the idea. Unfortunately, right now it would be just a waste of time and nerves, and he wanted to enjoy the limited time he had in Barcelona with Yuri.   
The curtain of the changing cubicle was heavy with material that resembled velvet (Otabek was good at telling different fabrics due to his enthusiastic involvement in designing his skating costumes), so Otabek couldn’t see what was going on inside the cubicle (kinda the point in changing rooms, no?) but he heard ruffling sounds of clothes being taken off and put on. Then silence, Yuri was probably looking at himself in the mirror.   
“Beka?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Do you want to have a look?”

Oh.

“Are you sure? I’m not an expert in skirts,”- Otabek knew his joke was lame even before he cracked it.   
“You perform in a national costume, Altin. Your taste in style can be trusted,”- Yuri’s voice chimed relentlessly from the other side of the curtain. 

_OK, I’m just gonna give my friend some styling advice,_ \- thought Otabek and he felt the tips of his fingers, that were clumsily clutching at the curtain, sweat a little. - _That’s what friends do._  
“OK, I’m gonna take a look,”- Otabek gave Yuri a fair warning and paused there for a second to make sure there was no objection on Yuri’s part. There was none and Otabek pulled the curtain away, but just a little, enough so that he could look in but not enough to expose Yuri to the rest of the world. 

Damn.  
Yuri looked hot in that skirt.  
Now, Otabek had a dilemma.   
Can he tell that to his friend?   
_Yuri, you look really hot in that_ just didn’t sound very...friendly?   
That’s where all those anime characters that Otabek watched would have a nose bleed.

“Cool,”- said Otabek, nodded slowly a couple of times in appoval and drew himself back, pulling the curtain closed.   
“Beka, wait! Can you take a couple of photos for me, please?” -Yuri stuck out his hand with a smartphone through the crack in the curtain fabric. Otabek took the phone and flicked the camera on. Yuri pulled the curtain away and stroke a pose. Otabek managed to take a couple of photos to Yuri’s liking but that was not without Yuri scowling at his cut feet or lamp light on his face, asking if both Otabek’s hands were left. Otabek wasn’t an expert in skirts but he wasn’t an expert in taking photos of Yuri in a skirt, either. 

The skirt was priced at sixty euro and Otabek saw a certain emotion pass Yuri’s face when the blonde inspected the price tag. Otabek was a professional athlete himself and he knew what he got paid to represent Kazakhstan, Yuri’s situation couldn’t have been much different in that geographical part of the world regardless of the fact that figure skating was somewhat of the second religion in Russia. The main source of income for both of them had always been private sponsors. Yuri had to live frugally. Yakov and Lilia took him over to stay with them for the Grand Prix but Yuri could be made return to his shabby sports dorm in the Russian Ice Skating Federation facilities anytime. He was legally still a minor, so renting a place of his own wasn’t even a question and Yakov as Yuri’s coach was his legal guardian until Yuri turned eighteen. Yuri also had an elderly grandfather and his medical bills to take care of. Sixty euros could buy a week worth of groceries if stretched creatively. 

Otabek just pulled his bank card. He had already received his payment for this week’s DJ-ing and he had also earned a good tip on top.   
“I’ll pay you back,”- Yuri promised.  
 _You just did, with your smile,_ \- Otabek thought.   
“Just you try,”- Otabek replied. -”It’s my gift to you for winning the gold medal, OK?”  
Another shop assistant, an elderly female this time, rang up the skirt without any questions or comments, charged Otabek’s card and packed the purchase in a bag. Otabek put his card away and pushed the bag against the counter to Yuri’s direction, granting him complete ownership of the item. 

They somehow survived the gala event, though to Otabek it was like walking through a thick mist. This time nobody got drunk so much as to do any pole dancing. In fact, people seemed to be wary of the last Grand Prix gala and Katsuki got more than his fair share of stares in expectation if he was gonna do anything crazy this time as well. This chased Katsuki and Victor away from the gala relatively early, the rest of the Russian team following their suit soon afterwards. Yakov marched Yuri away in person but not before giving Otabek a glare that was worse than a thousand of deaths. 

Otabek discovered the reason behind his sudden fall from grace with the Russian Champion Maker when he flopped on his hotel bed, kicked off his shoes, lay back stretching his tired muscles and turned on the free hotel WiFi. His social media was flooded with notifications and at first Otabek thought his phone had caught a virus or, worse, one of his accounts had been hacked. 

Yuri had uploaded a photo of himself in a skirt on his Instagram. He had tagged it #shopping_with_a_friend and Yuri’s Angels were going crazy up, down and sideways. The mirror behind Yuri reflected Otabek with a smartphone in hand, taking pictures of Yuri in a skirt. 

Otabek clicked on the heart symbol next to the photo, indicating that he had liked the photo, and turned the WiFi off. So, apparently Yuri and he had done the Yuuri Katsuki of the Grand Prix this year. Otabek put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, biting at his lower lip. Yuri’s room was somewhere on an upper floor. Yakov was probably, very much probably, grilling Yuri on what defined as good moral public conduct and Lilia was probably watching them silently with her hands crossed on her bony ballerina chest and her lips pursed into a slit, which was sometimes worse than if she were yelling. Otabek reached out for his smartphone and sent Yuri a text message. 

“I still think you look cool in that skirt. Don’t let yourself lose the sight of what you want.”

There.   
He waited.  
And waited.  
And waited.

An incoming text message beeped.  
“Thanks, Beka. You are the best.”  
Otabek smiled. 

Friends don’t quit when life gives them lemons, they just make limonchello, and Otabek couldn’t quit even if he wanted because he was in the middle of the maelstrom and leaving it in one piece wasn’t even an option. Two days ago Otabek’s life was normal.   
Familiar.  
Average.  
OK, not maybe everybody’s average, he was a national figure skating champion, after all.   
Now he was on a journey to something new and exciting, to something that was unknown territory and it was possibly even dangerous. But at the same time Otabek felt so much alive. Yuri had the eyes of a soldier but Otabek now also had something to fight for because Otabek’s heart was more than a muscle to pump blood. 

“Let them come,”- thought Otabek. 

The End


End file.
